March 19, 2004  
Volume 97, Issue 89  

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ARTS ISSUE 2004 - Page 4

Nicole D'Cruz
Brian Wong

By Adam Fisch

I’ve given some thought to life as a progression. Everyone always keeping track of who’s still around and who’s stopped. What do we really produce? Is there such a thing? It just seems like we’re no more than ants with their bodies all stuck as one, instead of little parts like ants have. And the whole “ants don’t kill each other” thing. But that’s not really as relevant as people make it out to be.

So what if we’re the only ones that kill each other? Does that make other species so much more honourable? If we didn’t kill each other, something else would. And who says we’re so valuable anyway? But anyway.

I dunno, it’s weird what triggers different emotions, like how if you keep throwing tennis balls against a roof, eventually one will get stuck and just stay on, interlocked with the shingles like a fucker. I wonder if I only feel things because I’ve been trained to. Like ending high school. I’m supposed to be upset, so I am. But I guess if that’s all I’ve been trained to do (which it isn’t), I’m in pretty good shape.

I’ve figured out why alcohol is a writer’s drug, and drugs are for others. Writers are observant, writers want to forget how sick things can get and focus on themselves. Alcohol makes you think about yourself. Drugs make you think about nothing at all.

So I drink, and cry, and point and yell at the bathroom mirror, being tough at no one, and do whatever I have to do to forget how much I’m wasting my life on nothing. And the pain’s loud like always. And I really do want to get rid of it.

and sometimes there is no right way to take it.

Ryan Prystal




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